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When my choirmate invited us to go jogging last month, I didn’t take him seriously. There are very few instances in my life when I am actually human by five-thirty A.M. (and I am a morning person) – Simbang Gabi, visits to my lola, and occasional stuff as mandated by the Parish Music Ministry. Even going to the office is a lesser evil, as I get up at six a.m. for the forty-five minute journey, and that is only for weekdays. So it was with dismay that I saw the eager faces of my choirmates who wanted to join this excruciating activity. Only my pride prevented me from chickening out. I cheered myself up by hunting for my sweats and sneakers.

Fast forward a month later. I’ve been jogging in the village park for two Sundays now, and I have to admit, it’s not as bad as I thought. On that first Sunday I was excited to meet the health-conscious side of my neighbors, and they did not fail me by showing up. Some of them looked as though they were training for the ASEAN games, while others ran around the track in a counter-clockwise direction (as in babanggain ka na). But most of my fellow joggers are senior citizens. It kind of inspires me to keep going – again, that’s my ego talking.

Two of my jogging companions are high school seniors, and I find it funny that for the two Sundays I’ve dragged my butt to the track, people keep mistaking me for a high school student. That first week, I accidentally matched my red jogging pants with a stripe on the side with that of my choirmate’s red Lagro High School jogging pants, also with a white stripe on the side.

Barangay Tanod: (to me) Miss, magpa-praktis ba kayo ng sayaw?

Me: (shocked) Ako po?

Barangay Tanod: Oo, ikaw. Anong year ba kayo? (muffled laughter of my friend in the background)

Me: (with dignity) Hindi po ako high school.

So this morning I wore the neutral leggings I found during a trip to COA. Again, some smart aleck chanced upon me as I was limbering up with my sixteen-year-old companions.

Tambay: (to me) Miss, magpa-praktis ba kayo ng sayaw?

I’ll just consider it as a compliment, at least for now.

What I really like about running – or fast walking, most of the time – is that it gives me a chance to clear my mind without unduly burdening the gray cells, because I’m too preoccupied in trying not to fall down and look stupid. So while I am doing laps around the (muddy and slippery) track, I ponder my human dilemmas (I question if they are indeed human dilemmas). I plot my career path (very symbolic). I think of new layouts for my scrapbooks. I devise new tactics to make my choirmates attend practices (some of whom, incidentally, are behind me as I run). Such thoughts are punctuated by the smell of damp leaves and hot lugaw, as well as the infectious VST songs played by the park caretakers. Then at the end of fifteen laps, I feel like I’ve done enough thinking for a lifetime.

An hour and a half later, the highlight of this sacrifice is the trip to the nearby Burger Machine. By this time, my joints and legs start to ache. My choirmates make a pact to do this thing regularly. While I haven’t seen cute guys at the track yet, there is always hope. J